rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Helter Swelter II

The sky has that vague haze that California sky frequently gets in very hot weather. The sky above is powdery blue with a hint of gray in it, but in the distance, as the evening light slants lower, it turns brighter and whiter. It lends the distance a mysterious allure, but is is a distance that is unapproachable. It always recedes when you move toward it. Rather like California itself, it is a promise that is never fulfilled.

The house is now near 85 degrees, but I have not yet turned on the air conditioner. I know that, if I turn it on now, I'll have to leave it on for the next several days, and it will run far too frequently. It is likely to be two or three o'clock in the morning before it is cooler outdoors than it is in here, though I might open the windows sooner, just to get the air stirring a bit so I will feel cooler even though I'm not.

Lately the skunks have been around every night. Distant skunk smell that lasts a short while is not offensive to me. Rather it is an interesting break from nocturnal monotony. But the recent skunks have been nearby, and their odor has lasted for hours. I suppose it is just as well I won't be able to open the windows for a long time yet tonight. Enduring both heat and strong skunk odor is like being crushed between rocks.

Last night it was difficult to sleep, and today it has been difficult to stay awake. As I recall from other very hot times, it gets more difficult to endure the longer it continues. When the world has a fever I have its fever dreams. The dismal forecast has extended the heat another day. My next opportunity to be cool without artificial assistance, or without going far from this place, will be early in the morning a week from tomorrow. This will probably turn out to be another lie. The fever is telling me there is no end to this heat wave, no escape from this place.

My brain is fried.

Sunday Verse

Circe's Power

by Louise Glück

I never turned anyone into a pig.
Some people are pigs; I make them
look like pigs.

I'm sick of your world
that lets the outside disguise the inside. Your men weren't bad men;
undisciplined life
did that to them. As pigs,

under the care of
me and my ladies, they
sweetened right up.

Then I reversed the spell, showing you my goodness
as well as my power. I saw

we could be happy here,
as men and women are
when their needs are simple. In the same breath,

I foresaw your departure,
your men with my help braving
the crying and pounding sea. You think

a few tears upset me? My friend,
every sorceress is
a pragmatist at heart; nobody sees essence who can't
face limitation. If I wanted only to hold you

I could hold you prisoner.


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